Brotherly Advice
by Scorpicus
Summary: Jehan gets the opportunity to give Dom Claude some advice on women. Booze, brothels and brotherly bonding result. Utterly book based. Complete.
1. Noon

**A/N: **Alternatively titled "The One Shot Whose Word Count Blazed Out of all Control" as what began as a simple exercise to while away a slightly hungover Sunday, became an all consuming three week project that screamed at me until I allowed it to become five chapters instead of one.

Secondly, its rated T for two uses of strong language, implied dream erotica and the rather earthy (though non explicit) nature of the second half. It is a strong, debauchery driven T. You have been warned.

Thirdly, this is utterly book based so if you have only seen the Disney movie then things will seem rather out of place. But, quite frankly, what on earth are you doing reading fan fic for Hunchback when you have the Real Mac Coy to enjoy? Go to Ebay and buy a copy for one Euro/other unit of currency. Come back when you've finished it.

The fic begins as an alternative chapter four - book seven and goes off on a tangent from there. Enjoy!

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**Brotherly Advice**

**Noon**

Jehan didn't knock. Jehan never knocked.

Knocking was something other people did who lacked the imagination to conceive of any other way to announce their presence. It was one of the many dull social conventions of life and, as such, Jehan would never want his presence to be heralded by a rapping when his witty tongue could do a much better job of it.

So naturally, when faced with the door to his brother's study in the cathedral of Notre-Dame, Jehan forwent the trial of knocking and proceeded straight to the entering. If Jehan _had_ stopped to knock, had paused to consider how following this one social convention would have increased his slim chances to withdraw money from his austere elder brother, the day would have turned out quite differently.

However, "stopping and thinking" was not a notion Jehan Frollo Du Moulin was accustomed.

Slipping the door open, he peered into the room. It was dimly lit, there being only one window, the small amount of light falling across a large wooden chair and table in the centre of the room. In the chair was seated a man whose bald head could belong to no other then the archdeacon of Josas. From the door, Jehan could only see his back, but he seemed to be head bent, leaning over a manuscript laid out on the desk...

Jehan smirked: What else could his brother be doing with his Saturday afternoon other than reading?

He observed the motionless Dom Claude for a few moments more. Jehan knew that, when in thought or study, his dear brother was utterly oblivious to all that went on around him, including the present appearance of his curly haired, young visitor. To Jehan, this was an excellent opportunity to freely examine his brother's secretive retreat, the contents of which was so often the topic of Paris gossip. Requesting money could wait. After all, who was he to disturb his brother from so clearly fascinating a book?

Thus, for the first of many times that day, curiosity got the better of young Jehan.

Staying by the door, he gazed into the gloom at a multitude of objects: Compasses, vials, alembics, flasks, skeletons, scrawled over parchments, piled up manuscripts and glass jars that contained all manner of ingredients littered the room. The cell was in such a state of neglect it made Jehan's living quarters look tidy.

On the left side of the room was a furnace and, after a quick glance at Claude to ensure he was still absorbed in whatever he was doing, Jehan quietly made his way across to investigate.

On top of the furnace, various alchemists tools were heaped and scattered. Amongst these objects, Jehan's eye was caught by a glass mask presumably used to protect the wearer's face when handling dangerous chemicals. Holding the mask in one hand and trailing his index finger down the inside of it, Jehan drew a line in the thick dust that the mask, and the entire room, was covered in.

His brother had clearly not used the mask, the furnace or any of the science related objects in months. If he didn't know his brother, Jehan would have come to the conclusion that Frollo's devotion to the quest for knowledge had somewhat waned of late. But, this was _his_ brother, whose devotion to any discipline _never_ waned... Did it?

"So much for the hope that you'll be turning metal into gold any time soon..." Jehan, mumbled to himself. Pity, it would have been the optimum solution for his finance issues, a science lesson he would be all too eager to attend...

Using his shirt sleeve to rub off the coating of dust, Jehan was about to try the glass mask on when he heard a deep, breathy sigh from behind him.

Swiftly tucking the mask behind his back like a child caught with their hand in the biscuit tin, Jehan spun around expecting to find his brother, eyes penetrating, voice commanding, about to interrogate him on what Jehan thought he was doing in his private study!

Or not.

Dom Claude was still seated in his chair, exactly how Jehan had last seen him, head bent over the parchment strewn desk. Actually, thought Jehan, his head was practically resting _on_ the desk...

Dropping the glass mask carelessly onto a pile of books - in the case of the tower room, to put something in its place was to put it out of place - Jehan slowly approached his brother's desk. Creeping around to the other side to get a good view, Jehan could see that his dear brother was fast asleep, arms crossed on the desk with his bald head resting upon them, turned to the side.

"Friday night take it out of you, eh Claude?" Jehan asked his slumbering brother with a grin.

On this side of the room, Jehan noticed that there were slogans engraved on the walls in a mix of Hebrew, Greek and Latin. His brother really did have a strange sense of decoration, mused Jehan, walking, now somewhat less quietly, over to the walls to examine the markings further.

Looking at the Hebrew words was pointless, he had been taught, but he hadn't learnt. Thus, Jehan shifted his gaze across to a Latin message: Astra, castra, nomen, numen.

"Thy stars, my camp, thy name, my power," he translated aloud, "That makes as much sense as the Hebrew..."

Moving onto another message: Sapere aude.

"Dare to know," Jehan read, this one made sense, "Yes, dare to know, indeed..."

Below that message, there was a single word of Greek that Jehan recognised immediately, "Ah ha! A fine motto to live life by: Impurity!"

As Jehan spoke the word aloud (far louder then anyone would have considered wise in his situation) he heard his elder brother let out another long, deep sigh. Only this time the sigh came mixed with a soft string of unintelligible syllables.

At this unexpected utterance, Jehan glanced over his shoulder to look again at his sleeping brother. Frollo didn't exactly look peaceful; his brows were dragged together in such a way that would have given the impression of consternation... if it weren't for the satisfied, almost-smile that was flirting around his lips.

Jehan turned back to the wall to read another one of his cryptic messages. Again, he selected another singular Greek word to read: "Fate."

"...meralda..."

Once again, Jehan's reading had earned another sigh and another slurred, sleepy mumbling from Dom Claude. Only this time it had been distinct enough to grab Jehan's interest: His brother surely didn't just utter the name Jehan thought he had heard?

Not believing his ears, Jehan trotted back to the centre of the room to kneel beside Claude, bringing his face level to his brother's. It did not go beyond Jehan's notice that, although the brows remained knitted, his brother's lips were now unmistakably in the rare gesture of his smile.

Jehan waited silently. Dom Claude did the same.

A minute passed and still Frollo was content to slumber on in silence. Already, Jehan was restless of waiting for something that he was growing ever certain he'd imagined. He was about to stand up and go back to looking through Claude's cluttered possessions, when a thought flitted through his mind.

Jehan positioned his head next to Frollo's, his mouth next to his brother's ear, and mischievously whispered the Greek "Impurity", once again projecting the word through his brother's subconscious.

Frollo stirred in his slumber, sighed deeply and spoke softly, "... Esmeralda... Dance... Dance for me, Esmeralda... Only for me..."

Jehan clapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself letting out a torrent of laughter at his brother's unwilling, sleep induced confession. The thought of his brother, his virtuous, learned, saint of an older brother, dreaming of a woman! Oh, Jehan didn't think the day could get any better. Well, perhaps it could...

Jehan leaned in again to feed his virginal-in-body-but-not-in-spirit brother more words, this time of a far saucier nature then Greek, to see their results. However, halfway to Dom Claude's ear, an unsuppressed laugh spilled out of the curly haired youth, causing Frollo to groggily awaken from his dream filled sleep. Luckily for Jehan, Frollo's transition from dreams back to cold reality gave the younger brother enough time to dash out of the room, unnoticed by the sleepy priest.

Safely in the corridor, Jehan let his sides split with laughter, ignoring a reproachful look from a passing monk. Only when his empty stomach growled for attention, did Jehan remember the purpose of visiting his dear brother in the first place: The noble quest for free monetary donations. Without which his purse, stomach and bed would stay empty; Jehan cringed at the thought. Yes, the happiness of his near future depended on drawing some money out of the archdeacon - he couldn't leave Notre-Dame and his brother just yet.

A grin slid onto Jehan's rosy face. Of course, with the knowledge gained from the first visit, the second was going to be far more entertaining...

Facing the door, this time, Jehan knocked.

Claude Frollo, sitting upright on his chair, massaged his brow with his fingers: Why did he always have to awake from his dreams just before the sweetest part?

Breaking this thought, came a rapping from the cell door. Dom Claude remained motionless. At his silence, the noise paused... Then continued to become less of a knocking and more of a hammering. At every thud, the lines on Frollo's forehead deepened: Who on God's Earth would have the audacity to want to see him after he had given _explicit_ instructions that he was not to be disturbed?

The sound of a voice answered his question, "Brother, there's no use hiding, I know you're in there!"

Frollo sighed in consternation, his expression leaving behind any trace of sleep to exude its normal severity, "Jehan, what are you doing here?"

Taking this response as an admittance, Jehan entered his brother's cell, unknowingly to Dom Claude, for the second time that day.

"Why, brother Claude, what other reason then to seek the pleasure of your company and the wise words that you are sure to disembark on me?" the younger brother replied, attempting to give out an impression of complete innocence.

Unfortunately for Jehan, it was an act Dom Claude had seen through long ago.

"Jehan, I am greatly displeased with you. I hear complaints about your behaviour every day."

Jehan had been in his brother's presence for less then ten seconds and already he was receiving what was bound to become a lengthy moral lecture. This did not bode well for the contents of his purse. Moreover, to bring "dream women" up in conversation would certainly destroy his chance for a free top up in coins. No, as tempting as it was to immediately query his brother's not so holy dreams, business had to come first, pleasure later...

"Complaints? What complaints, dear brother?"

"That you have been fighting with the other students; that you are far behind in all your subjects; that you spend all your time drinking and none of it studying," as Claude rattled off the accusations against his brother, standing up from the chair to pace, his demeanour became increasingly more grim with each passing word, "All these come to me on a daily basis from the rector of the University."

No, Jehan reflected, his chances for extracting money out of the archdeacon did not look favourable. Still, he wasn't going to give up yet...

"Ah, all of them complete exaggerations. Brother, you of all people know how academics like to twist simple events with flowery language," it was what Jehan was presently attempting.

"Jehan, I know they would not complain to me unless it was grounded in absolute fact," Frollo replied sternly.

Against the wall of his brother's furrowed brow, Jehan knew playing innocent was useless. Time for a change in tactics...

"All right brother, I admit that of late I've been giving in,"Jehan chose his next words carefully, "a little too often to temptation. But don't you see? That's exactly why I'm here. To listen to your lecturing, your words of wisdom, learning and morality. I've seen the error of my ways and I want to change."

"You wish to reform?" Dom Claude had heard this one before and he knew exactly what was going to follow it.

"Yes, you understand exactly," Jehan beamed at his brother, uncomprehending just how well Claude truly did understand.

"But, you see, to properly start reforming my ways, to become the straight laced, studious young man that I wish to be, I'm going to need... a little something..."

"And what exactly might this something be?"

Jehan looked full into Frollo's stern, penetrating gaze. He knew his brother had a soft spot for him somewhere and Jehan tried desperately to entreat it with his next words, "Just a little money from my loving, elder brother Claude!"

Frollo's solemn gaze never faltered.

"And what, pray tell, would you do with it?"

When he and his brother conversed, it was always a matter of time before Jehan wormed in a request for a non returnable loan. Actually, Claude had the distinct impression that Jehan only ever visited him with the aim of leaving with fuller pockets...

"To buy new books. The first step to becoming an excellent student, I'm sure you'd agree."

"And what is wrong with your old books?"

"Why nothing, brother, except that they are lost and, like all other books, they don't know their way home," Jehan smirked, amused at his own wit. Claude remained stoic.

"Then I shall send you new books."

"Ah, but brother, if _only_ it was new books I needed," Dom Claude folded his arms across his chest as Jehan continued to try and wriggle his way into his brother's pockets, "just look at the sorry state of my boots!"

"And how exactly would new boots aid you in becoming a better student?"

"To be respectable, one must look respectable," Jehan supplied instantly.

Arms still firmly crossed, Frollo considered this for a moment, scrutinizing the hopeful, fresh face of his foolish younger brother.

"Well then, I shall send you both new boots and new books but," Claude was careful to emphasize the two following words with finality, "no money."

"Just a few pennies,"Jehan begged, dropping to his knees in front of Claude, "Just so I can buy myself some much needed food," his stomach picking the perfect moment to release an empty gurgle. Self respect be damned so long as tonight he could afford the company of Isabeau!

Frollo looked down at the pitiable, kneeling form of Jehan and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Jehan, I have explained our financial situation to you many times and yet you either haven't listened, haven't understood or haven't remembered."

Actually, Jehan had done all three, he was simply ignoring it.

"Just a penny then! Just one measly penny so I can buy myself a crust of bread, a lump of cheese, a piece of fruit!" Jehan pleaded, edging towards Frollo on his knees, his hands clasped together before him in a mock begging gesture.

Claude stared gloomily at the grovelling Jehan, his silence giving the younger brother momentary hope.

"Jehan," Claude began slowly, "if I gave you one penny, you wouldn't leave until I gave you the whole purse."

"Please, brother, just one-"

"Perhaps, this will teach you to spend your allowance more wisely next time," Dom Claude interrupted, before his brother could finish yet another pleading. Jehan lowered his hands and sat back on his heels - the situation was fast resembling a lost cause. Time for one last trick...

"Brother, do you truly hate me so much that you would have me begging on the streets of Paris like a dog, rather than spare a measly penny for your poor, starving, little brother?" As he spoke the words, Jehan looked up into the stern features of Dom Claude's face with wide eyes, attempting to appeal to the merciful side that was reserved for Jehan alone.

"Jehan..."

"Then, brother," Jehan implored desperately, "lend me a coin!"

"No."

Alas, that day, it seemed even Jehan was to be denied access to the archdeacon's mercy.

Getting to his feet, Jehan glared at the inflexible priest, resembling a spoilt child who had been denied chocolate for the first time. Dom Claude simply watched in cold silence.

Frustrated and standing, Jehan asked once again what he already knew, "You will not give me any money?"

"No."

The blond youth let an irritated sound of disappointment course through his throat. Quite frankly, he mused, his brother was far easier to converse with when he was asleep. Thinking back to Dom Claude's sleepy utterances brought a smirk to Jehan's lips. A smirk that turned into a grin when he looked up into the archdeacon's permanent holier-than-thou expression.

Well, if dear Claude was not going to provide him the means to amuse himself, then Claude would just have to provide the amusement itself.

"No? Then... dear brother, I only have one final question..."

"Which is?"

Taking a moment to compose his face into one of innocent curiosity, Jehan looked Dom Claude straight in the eyes, before continuing to his query.

"Who exactly is Esmeralda?"


	2. Afternoon

**Afternoon**

"_Who exactly is Esmeralda?" _

An involuntary blush flared onto Claude's pale face - the name taking his mind back to the painfully erotic dream madness of only a few moments ago. Feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, Frollo broke eye contact to glare at the wall before returning that same glare back to his smug brother, furrowed brow and frown deeper then ever before.

_How did he...?_

After a long pause, Frollo spoke, making an effort to ensure his voice was as emotionless as ever. Alas, it was effort wasted; the redness of his high cheek bones told all.

"And... of what consequence is that name to you?"

"Oh, brother Claude, you did not really think you were going to get out of answering _that_ easily, did you?" Jehan taunted, grinning at his brother's obvious crimson flush, "The question is not what consequence the name is to me, but to you?"

Frollo continued to glare in stony silence. He spent every moment of his life repressing emotions, he was not going to break that trend now. Behind the stare, his mind started to calculate a plausible denial, yet the success of such a denial relied completely on how much Jehan knew...

Meanwhile, Jehan had bored of this one sided staring match and decided to give Claude a little push in the direction towards an answer, "Been having sweet dreams, brother?"

Again the archdeacon's cheeks flushed red as once more the gypsy of his dreams filled his mind, breasts laid bare, calling out his name...

"Or should I say wet dreams?"

That struck a nerve.

"Get out," Frollo snarled, lunging to grab his brother by the collar, but Jehan was too quick. Nimbly giving Claude's grasp the slip, he dodged to the safety of the other side of the desk.

"Now, brother, there's no need to get violent! Not when the conversation is finally getting so interesting..." In all his sixteen years, Jehan had never seen his brother so ruffled, let alone blush. He had no idea that the simple mention of a name could cause such a reaction. Was Claude... _fond_ of this Esmeralda?

Around the desk, Frollo made another attempt to grab the smug youth. Jehan quickly skipped out of reach.

"Really, what would the rest of the clergy think if they saw the archdeacon of Josas being so abusive? Come to think of it, brother, what would _they_ think of your Esmeralda?"

At this remark, the colour drained from his elder brother's face as if he'd just been sentenced to life imprisonment.

"Jehan, be-" Frollo didn't finish his barked request for his younger brother to "begone". In the corner of his vision, he had become aware of his alchemist mask resting precariously on a pile of books, the dust covering smeared as if someone had recently tried to clean it with a grubby shirt sleeve... Recalling Jehan's remark on his "sweet dreams", suddenly, the situation fell unhappily into place.

Pointing one accusatory finger at the mask and then slowly moving it to rest on Jehan - who was now attempting to yet again assemble his features into that of an innocent but failing - Claude growled, "You sneaking weasel, how dare you disturb me when-"

"Disturb you? But, dear Claude, that's exactly what I didn't do! How could I wake you when you seemed to be having such fun with this Esmeralda?"

At this interruption, Dom Claude tried, again, to forcibly remove his younger brother to the door, but the youth proved his agility, once more ducking out of the way.

"Let's not cause a scene, shall we, Claude? I'm sure you don't want the whole of Notre-Dame getting involved with your... _affairs_," at this obvious double-entente a growl escaped the elder brother's lips, Jehan continued quickly, "Because, lucky for you, I have no intention of divulging my brother the archdeacon's secrets," as long as he pays me a little money to keep me on the virtuous path of trust, thought Jehan, but that detail could wait till later. Presently, Jehan's curiosity on his previously thought to be female-phobic brother was what he most wanted sated.

Catching the gleam in Dom Claude's eye that still suggested the priest wanted nothing more then to forcibly eject Jehan from the cathedral, he hastily added, "Of course, if you throw me down the steps of Notre-Dame, these sentiments will change entirely."

At this, Claude fell back into pensive silence, not losing a single wrinkle from his creased forehead as he studied the fresh face of his little brother, Jehan staring right back.

Finally, Claude broke the silence with a derisive snort, "You are not actually attempting to insinuate yourself as trustworthy?"

"We're brothers, are we not?"

Again this seemed to set Dom Claude musing in silence. Jehan, whether wisely or unwisely, judged this as a favourable moment to pry further into the matter of "Esmeralda".

"So, my dear brother Claude, I'm daring to know," Jehan began, borrowing the Latin from the wall, "who is this woman that so... _voluptuously_ inhabits your dreams?"

The very idea of associating his elder brother with "voluptuous women" was enough to put a grin on Jehan's face. A smugness, which Dom Claude could no longer bear to witness. Turning away from his brother, he moved his gaze to look out the singular cell window onto the streets of Paris below...

Faint music could be heard from the square, drawing Claude's eyes to a crowd gathering around what seemed to be a lone figure, tambourine in hand, shoulders bare, skirts flying-

Instantly, he spun back around to face the room.

Perplexed at Claude's sudden movement, Jehan approached the window, craning his neck to see what his brother had been looking at to find the sight of La Esmeralda dancing in the streets...

La Esmeralda. Dancing.

A metaphorical penny dropped in Jehan's brain.

"Brother..." he began incredulously, pointing at the crowd in the square, "she's not... you don't... not a..." sliding a glance from the window up into Dom Claude's icy glare, Jehan burst into laughter.

"Don't laugh!" Frollo growled through gritted teeth, shaking Jehan roughly by the arm, not realising, until too late, that this command only verified what his younger brother was trying to insinuate.

Jehan gaped, open mouthed, at Claude, first in sheer amazement and then in triumph at the final confirmation that his brother was, in fact, just a man. For once in his life, the student had no words for the occasion and so made a compromise by doubling up into more raucous laughter.

Silently fuming at Jehan, the gypsy and his - what he hated to consider - dim witted last words, Claude slumped into his chair, elbow on the armrest, head in his hand, glowering at the books that dared to clutter his desk.

Finally, Jehan recovered himself enough to be able to articulate words, "I can't believe it! My brother... my _sanctimonious_ older brother... for a _gypsy_!" coherent sentences were still beyond his grasp.

Attempting to block his brother's noisy presence from his mind, Claude continued to glare at inanimate objects. Jehan, all laughter exhausted, turned again to look at the twirling form of the dancing gypsy in the square.

"... I must say, Claude," he began, his gaze momentarily transfixed, like the crowd below, on the young beauty lighting up the street, "she is rather lovely. Dark skin, full lips, supple thighs-" at this last, Dom Claude let out a soft, involuntary groan, eyes tightly shut as if he was in pain. Jehan couldn't help but smirk. Yes, his brother definitely had it bad for the gypsy girl...

"I'm not surprised she haunts your dreams, she would haunt mine."

At this remark, Claude opened his eyes, chin still resting gloomily on his palm, "Then why doesn't she?"

Jehan turned from the window to regard his brother with a sly smile; Claude knew many, many, many things, but, on this subject, he was obviously, and completely, naïve.

"Because, dear brother, believe it or not, she isn't the only one. There are others just as delectable and far more attainable..."

Frollo quickly caught onto what Jehan was alluding to and, in an almost reflex reaction, bit out, "Impure wretch."

"Look who's talking!" Jehan laughed, motioning towards the Greek Claude had inscribed on the wall, "Lusting after a girl half your age... Quite frankly, Claude, I'm appalled. Disappointed in fact," oh, how long Jehan had waited for an opportunity to twist Dom Claude's words back on him. Sixteen years in fact...

"With you as my role model, no wonder I've turned out to be such a sinner – I was doomed from the beginning!"

At this, Claude slammed the hand that had been supporting his chin onto the desk. Jehan had crossed another line - he was in the habit of doing that of late - causing the floodgates to finally break within the archdeacon.

"Doomed? You do not know the meaning of the word!" Dom Claude snarled at his brother, eyes ablaze with such dark emotion that Jehan shrank back into the corner of the room, "I have tried everything – _everything _– to remove that gypsy demon from my thoughts. I've had her banned from dancing outside Notre-Dame, yet still she comes; I've tried to remove her from Paris, yet she escapes; I've fasted; I've prayed; I've thrown myself into religion and science like never before and yet against that witch it is all _futile_! Still she consumes my thoughts, consumes my mind, consumes my dreams. The very sight of her makes my blood _boil_ with desire; desire to touch her, kiss her, love her, and by God when she dances... when she dances..." panting, Claude turned his head down to the floor as if trying to smother the waves of passion, fury and despair that had spilled out of him in a raging torrent to flood the room.

Jehan watched on in silence as his brother, with ragged breaths, slowly lifted his gaze to once again penetrate the youth with flaming eyes.

"Do you think, Jehan, do you think I want these thoughts? Do you think I want to risk my reputation, my life, my soul for this girl, this gypsy who has so bewitched me, setting me on the road to hell and damnation! Everything I have tried to cure myself has only succeeded in further making me a slave to my obsession, she's put me under her spell and I am powerless to prevent it," Claude pointed to the Greek word under "impurity" that had been recently engraved onto the wall, spitting the translation aloud, "Fate!"

On declaring this word to the room, Claude regained his temporarily abandoned senses, becoming aware that, at some point during his tirade, he had risen from the chair to bear down on his younger brother, forcing him into a corner, their faces only inches apart.

For once, Jehan was giving his brother a genuine wide eyed look.

Both brothers remained in a state of motionless silence until, finally, the scowling Claude moved back to his chair, collapsing into the seat, elbows on the desk with both palms pressed firmly into his lined forehead.

Some distance now between himself and Dom Claude, Jehan was able to recover his carefree aura that was, supposedly, immune to intimidation. Nevertheless, it was still some moments before he dared to speak to the tormented archdeacon of Josas.

"Brother," he began finally, "with a great sense of trepidation that hearing my voice will force you to internally and externally combust, may I make an observation?"

"No."

Regardless, Jehan continued, "Don't you think you're driving this... a little out of proportion?"

Hands still pressed to his brow, Claude let out a deep sigh.

"Jehan, I have, over the years, come to realise that you do not value your soul or its final resting place. I, on the other hand..."

"Spend an unhealthy amount of time anguishing over it," Jehan finished for him. Claude responded with silence.

Jehan couldn't see his brother's expression, Frollo's face was still obscured by his hands, thus, Jehan had no idea what the priest's reaction would be to his next words. However, even if Jehan could interpret perfectly his brother's thoughts, it was doubtful that the out spoken youth would have paid them any heed.

"My dearest Claude, you may well know everything about everything with just one exception: You know _nothing_ of women," Dom Claude cringed in his chair, Jehan continued, "Well, with the exception of the Virgin Mary but, by her very name, you won't be getting very far down that road..."

Here Jehan paused, expecting his brother to condemn him for his blaspheming tongue yet, whether he was listening to Jehan's words or not, Dom Claude did not stir.

"Take heart from this brother, you are simply suffering from the same ailment as all the male population of Paris: Attraction to the utterly unattainable woman," Jehan let a cheeky smile pass his lips as he added, "Or, in your case, girl."

Frollo did not take the bait.

"But, brother, I do believe your methods of dealing with the unattainable are rather... misjudged."

At this, Claude finally looked up, "What are you implying?"

"Simply that if you want to remove La Esmeralda, skirts and all, from your mind and return to your..." Jehan's eyes fell on the furnace that so clearly had but one purpose, "Priestly thoughts, there is one certain and most _pleasurable_ way of accomplishing it."

"Certain and most... pleasurable?" Claude murmured slowly to himself, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He had the distinct impression that he knew where his brother's words were heading...

"The same way that all men in Paris deal with this most woefully unhappy of predicaments: A trip to La Val D'Amour!"

At the mention of this infamous Paris whore house, where men, young and old, fat and scrawny, fair and ugly, exchanged petty coins to give themselves over to the warm, moist sins of the flesh, Claude gave a subconscious shudder.

Once again, his thoughts were consumed by the pleasure that was denied to him, which he had so freely and, as he now thought, foolishly given up in youth and that all other men were free to indulge - at the expense of a few pennies and their eternal soul. A thought that used to console the archdeacon during the cold, empty nights he spent alone in his bed. Now, however...

Claude bit down hard on his bottom lip.

"The solution," he growled, jaw tense, "is not to substitute one sin for another."

"Brother, 'tis a little sinning to avoid a lot of sinning," Jehan replied, hands together as if a monk in prayer, "Surely, you were applying the same principle when you attempted to have the gypsy carried off into the night."

Jehan decided there and then that, if he could not take the money _from_ his brother to spend at the brothel, then he would simply take his brother _with_ the money to do the spending for him! Before today, Jehan would have thought this notion as realistic as flying pigs, however, he had also thought those same pigs would be performing barrel rolls before Claude Frollo had dreams of scantily clad gypsies...

"If it had succeeded, no longer would I be tempted into the gates of Hell by the witch," Claude replied deftly, "I do not see how your... _suggestion_ would create the same effect."

"Because Claude, to get over a woman, one must turn to the arms of another."

"And then what, you say? To another and another and another? The only way I could condemn my soul more was if I murdered the Pope," Claude scoffed.

"Or submitted to your demon gypsy?" remarked Jehan, causing Frollo to redden and then pale.

"Trust me, brother, one night of sweet passion in the Val D'Amour and the gypsy girl will be completely forgotten."

At this statement, Claude regarded his brother in silent contemplation. He said he had tried everything to remove Esmeralda from his daily thoughts and nightly dreams, apparently he had not...

"How can you be... so sure?" Claude said quietly, not wishing to ask nor hear the answer.

"As I told you Claude, you are not the first man to desire a woman he can never have. How did the others cure themselves of this condition? By bedding," Dom Claude shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "a woman that, with a few coins, is all too obliging to their darkest whims," Jehan assured, speaking in such a knowing way on a subject he should know nothing about that Frollo was tempted to launch into yet another lecture on the path of virtue. Alas, that would have been hypocrisy not even Dom Claude could commit.

"You _are_ a man, are you not?"

"A priest," stated Claude flatly.

"Then you of all people, brother, should know of our forgiving God and the wonders of confession. Sin a little now, a wench over a witch being the lesser of two evils, repent after and voilà! Your soul is safe!"

The elder brother did not seem to be listening to Jehan's sacrilegious logic, instead staring, eyebrows knitted and chin in hand, at the Greek messages he had carved, not so long ago, onto his walls.

"Impurity and fate..."

Not a month ago he had submitted to the idea of being ensnared in the gypsy's web. All remedies to resist fate exhausted save her execution, which he was slow to bring about. Yet, here was one remedy that he had not considered, albeit the conflict of interest was obvious...

The nature of the cure horrified him and yet... it was that same aspect that appealed to him absolutely. Perhaps he would deny it, but it was this that finally won over the archdeacon.

"Impurity _or _fate..."

Taking a moment for his mind to revel in this newly discovered truth, Claude finally looked up from his private musings to regard his brother with an austere a countenance as ever, but his dark eyes were smouldering with something far removed from virtue.

"La Val D'Amour..." at hearing himself annunciate the accursed name aloud, a shiver ran down the archdeacon's spine. A shiver he hoped was caused by revulsion and yet he knew was caused by something else.

"You will go?" Jehan asked, incredulously.

Claude shifted his gaze once more to the Greek.

"... God, forgive me."


	3. Night

**A/N: **If you don't feel dirty after reading this section, then I'm doing it wrong.

**Night**

The sun set: Night came to Paris.

And with nightfall, the city transformed. The buildings, in daylight, housing the mundane working lives of the population; their banality now cloaked in darkness. The narrow streets once filled with the hustle and bustle of the day now emptied. The Parisians themselves, so regulated by social class, yet at night united by their shared singular quest for unbridled pleasure.

Two such Parisians were slowly winding their way up the Street of St. Denis. One filled with the anticipation of the night to come, the other with a countenance so gloomy he resembled a man walking to the gallows.

As they rounded the corner, the younger of the two men spotted their destination marked by a small gathering of people outside what would have otherwise seemed just an ordinary building. The youth pointed this out excitedly to the older man whose mood, on hearing of their close arrival, became increasingly black. As they continued to progress (the older man ensuring that such progression was as slow as possible) toward the small crowd, a wooden sign could be depicted, nailed to the side of the building. The words painted on the sign were faded, but still legible: "La Val D'Amour."

On reading the sign, Claude Frollo turned his head in the direction where he knew the grand edifice of Notre-Dame lay. Yet, in the darkness of the narrow Street of St. Denis, his Cathedral was nowhere to be seen. The priest swallowed hard and turned back to look upon the building he was abandoning his beloved Gothic monument for.

If buildings spoke through their architecture, then La Val D'Amour was being very quiet indeed: The building could have been any other in Paris. The only whispered hint of what sinful delights lay inside being the multiple lit windows on the upper floors; bodies silhouetted in the candle light.

Yet, these lit windows were more intimidating to Dom Claude then all the gargoyles on Notre-Dame put together.

"You ready for a good time, darlin'?"

Claude's gaze snapped from the building to the loosely spread crowd in front of it. It was made up of mostly drunken men whose sense of direction was so impaired they could barely find their way to their feet, let alone their way to the brothel's door and a few women whose bawdy dress marked out their vocation as clearly as Claude's cassock (that was currently hanging up in his cell) marked his own.

Claude perceived the closest woman to him to be the one that spoke and, as was his natural reaction to all women who dared to come near him, he positively glowered at her.

"All righ', I'm not your type, no need to look so huffy."

That was not quite the response Frollo had expected his piercing eyes to procure...

"Éléonore!" Jehan called out, giving his brother a pat on his stiff shoulders - if Claude did a runner with his pouch of money that would be the end of Jehan's ecstasy fuelled plans for the evening, "Is Isabeau around somewhere?"

"She is, but she ain't going to be seeing _you _unless youse got the cash to pay... and up front this time."

"Perfect," Jehan grinned, "If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her."

Frollo was still staring at the out spoken whore: She was well rounded, dumpy and far past her prime in terms of age. Layers of make up covered her piggy face in an attempt to hide the bags under her eyes and the crinkles that adorned her features. Alas, nothing could disguise the missing teeth that were clearly evident each time she opened her mouth to speak...

Claude felt a tugging on his arm waking him abruptly from his thoughts. Thankfully, it was Jehan and no one else.

As Jehan began to lead him through the crowd to the doors of the whore house, Claude whispered to him in disgust: "You know that woman?"

"If by "know" you mean her name and going rate, then yes, I know her. Éléonore Le Éléphant. Very cheap."

"... So named because of her size?"

"No, because of her orgasms," Jehan smirked into his brother's ear as Claude's cheeks tinted pink.

It was then that Frollo came to a sudden halt: They had made it to the door.

Stepping over a man who was murmuring feverishly to himself face down in the dirt, Jehan slipped inside, expecting his brother to follow on behind him. Yet Claude was frozen to the spot; legs numb and arms glued rigidly to his sides, torn utterly between wanting to run and the desire to follow.

Beyond the door, beyond that Hellish threshold, lay the abyss. A pool of sin that he was on the brink of diving into, submerging head first and certainly doomed to drown in. If he stepped through that door, the door to which he had spent all his thirty six years condemning, he doubted whether he would ever come out again and was taken by the fear that, even if he escaped in body, his soul would not.

Frollo glanced back over his shoulder at the legless crowd of sinners; one man now with his arms around Le Éléphant, his hand clenching her breast and tongue tasting her rotted gums. The sight, the situation, the place sent blood rushing into the archdeacon's brain, filling him with revulsion and yet the need to satisfy what had been so long denied to him burned like never before.

Claude, fists clenched, extracted his gaze back to the doors of damnation and desire.

Yet, he told himself, unlike the sinners surrounding him, he was not here to quench that desire alone, but to finally sway the power the demon gypsy held over his mind. By giving his soul over to sin just for tonight, he was saving it from being tempted to the Devil's bed. Was that not honourable enough cause for God to forgive him?

The God who had left him alone for so long. Prayers to remove the gypsy witch (or to deliver her to him depending on Claude's mood) left unanswered. Was it not then God's fault that Claude was having to resort to such soul tainting methods in order to keep himself pure from the gypsy?

All this Claude told himself and believed, yet he still remained paralysed: Unable to move forwards, unable to move back, content only to stand on the precipice.

_If he fled now, he would be back inside the safety of Notre-Dame within the hour..._

From the window above, the sounds of soft female moaning drifted down to Claude's ears, causing his organs to churn with a sudden lust.

_Oh, God..._

"Oi, baldy! Stop blocking the door!"

Two large hands shoved the archdeacon roughly across the threshold, forcing him to stumble into the brothel and collide with his younger brother on the other side.

Fate, it would seem, had intervened once again.

Inside the abyss, the stench hit him first: Sweat, booze and cheap perfume infused the air. To inhale was to literally breath in the sleaze. Claude gagged: He was in the very pit of debauchery.

The hall was filled with licentious men from testosterone strung youths to the grey, perverse aged; from the scum of the gutter to visiting noblemen; all occupying the various tables and chairs with a bottle in one hand and a woman across their lap to be fondled in the other. In the dim haze of the room, skin was licked, squeezed, sucked, stroked, groped, caressed; the candle light casting shadows of fornication on the sloppily white washed walls.

At the sight of so much flushed female flesh, Claude shut his eyes tight in panic; the fire in the pit of his stomach set ablaze. Eyes closed but ears open, his mind was assaulted by shouts of delight, moaning ecstasy and whispered insincerities.

Opening his eyes a fraction, the archdeacon was taken by the irrational terror that the ground was going to open up for the fires of Hell to swallow him whole. Amongst the sex and sleaze, Claude heard Jehan's voice, "Suave entrance, brother," and felt himself being pulled off the floor back onto his feet.

Brow furrowed, eyes wide, limbs numb; Jehan was once more dragging him by the elbow, manoeuvring him between tables, past groaning men and their scantily clad whores, their proximity causing the blood to pound in Claude's temples, to sit him on a bench next to the wall. Seated, Claude stared down at the wine stained table top, desperately attempting to block out the voluptuous scene around him and dull the unholy desire that clouded his brain so completely.

Slowly, Frollo became aware that Jehan was staring at him, as if still in complete disbelief of his present company down in La Val D'Amour.

"So what do you think, brother?"

Think? He'd lost the ability the second he entered the building.

"The architecture may not be grand, but, you must admit, the furnishings are quite delightful," Jehan grinned as Dom Claude dug his nails into his knees, failing to suppress a shudder of fear and lust.

At his brother's trembling, Jehan turned to call over the bar maid. If his brother was to have any chance of making it through the night, then copious amounts of alcohol were most certainly going to be needed to blind that troublesome sense of virtue.

Finally, Claude dared to glance up, to say what to his brother he didn't know, yet his gaze was immediately caught by a pair in mid fornication at a nearby table. Claude's throat constricted, speech impossible, at the sight of a young red head making noises of such delight (although her expression looked far from genuine) as she straddled the lap of a portly, fifty something year old man. As the pig sucked and licked at the girl's exposed bosom, sweaty hands buried in her skirts, Claude recognised him as an official of the law whose offices were based only a couple of streets south of Notre-Dame.

This struck Claude with the sudden fear of himself been recognised and he forced his gaze back to the grimy table. Almost subconsciously, Claude moved his hand up to scratch his neck where his priests collar should have been. Without the cassock and collar, his body should have felt less constricted and yet, in the replacement black doublet and shirt, he was suffocating.

From the left and right Claude was surrounded by breathy sighs, grunts and groans. If it wasn't for the sight of Jehan, he would have been convinced he had died in the Street of St. Denis and found himself in Hell...

Or Heaven.

In the corner of his vision, a narrow staircase led to the upstairs of the bordello and, judging by the pairs (and threes) that unsteadily traversed the staircase, it no doubt led to the rooms that Claude had spied from outside the whore house.

No, he wasn't in Heaven or Hell, but waiting in Purgatory. Heaven was above...

"Gen'lemen, what can I get yer?" the bar maid had finally made her way across the fornicating room.

"Two bottles of red wine; one the finest you have on offer, the other the strongest," Jehan responded instantly, Claude dropping his head once more to stare at the safety of the table.

"Uh huh... and how will you be payin', Jehan."

Jehan prodded the seemingly oblivious Dom Claude on the arm, "Brother, if you wouldn't mind doing the honour – I'm a little short on pennies at present."

Scowling, Frollo reached into his pocket and thrust some coins at the bar mind.

While the woman left to fetch the wine, Jehan turned around in his chair scanning the crowd of sin as if looking for someone in particular. However, possibly due to Claude's prompt and inexact payment, the bar maid was back with the two bottles and goblets before Jehan could find who or what he was looking for.

Frollo eyed the goblet warily as Jehan poured him an overly generous amount of wine and then proceeded to pour himself an _equally_ overly generous amount, draining half the goblet in one gulp.

"Finest wine in the house and it still tastes like pigswill," Jehan exclaimed pulling a face, but nevertheless taking another large swig. His second opinion didn't differ from the first.

Claude continued to eye his goblet suspiciously.

"Come on, brother, drink up!" Jehan urged, "Just imagine it's communion wine!"

"That would imply that we are in a church and..." the words catching in Frollo's throat as a nearby wench cried out in superficial ecstasy, "we are most certainly not..." regardless, Frollo took a small sip.

"Brother, I think the holy scripture is completely clear on the stance of alcohol consumption," Jehan took another large gulp, "Jesus turning water into wine is an obvious sign that drunkenness is the path to the divine."

"Jehan, you must hold back your blaspheming tongue!"

"I would hold mine back if you would loosen yours up," Jehan replied, already topping up his goblet, "Besides, I hasten to remind you of where we are and that, as such, blasphemy is the least of my sinful worries."

At the mention of sin, Claude's face paled. Nevertheless, he took another sip of the wine, the burning pressure within his soul was not going to go unsated any longer.

Suddenly spotting what he was looking for a few moments before, Jehan called out: "Isabeau!"

A young girl with shoulder length, dark hair and a smooth, round face turned at his brother's cry. She was quite pretty – she clearly hadn't been in the business long.

"Isabeau, my dear," Jehan said, taking the girl's hand and pulling her into his lap, "How long has it been? A month? Ten years? A century since I last held you in my arms," Jehan spoke the words between kisses trailing up the whore's neck and shoulder.

Frollo's jaw tightened, unable to stop a growled note of disgust from escaping his throat. Though whether this noise came from disapproval of Jehan's sinful indulgence or from jealousy of Jehan's enjoyment of something he had never had; Claude didn't know. Likely both.

"A week," the girl giggled, putting her arms around Jehan's neck.

"Oh, well, a week without your touch feels like eternity," Jehan whispered smirking into the girl's ear, ignoring his brother's glare, his hands eagerly moving over her body.

"Isabeau, don't touch him until he hands over his fee," a voice sounded from behind Frollo. Turning around to see who spoke, Claude came face-to-mid-drift with a blonde harlot. Instantly turning crimson, the blood pumping in his temples, Claude spun back around to face Jehan who was calmly using one hand to position his whore's chin to take a long, deep kiss before speaking.

"Juliette, may I draw your attention to these expensive, exquisitely disgusting, yet fully paid for beverages? Isabeau, dear, pass me the wine. No, not the goblet, the bottle..." Jehan guzzled down the liquid, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth before returning to Isabeau's lips.

"Yes," the whore hissed, "You'll spend all your money on liquor and then expect to talk your way out of paying for the company-"

Without thinking, Claude tossed his pouch onto the table. The coins spilling out of it causing an instant shift in the whore's disposition, eyes lighting up at the sight of hard cash.

"Jehan," her tone shifting from harsh to gentle in a word, "who is your handsome friend?" in whore speak, "handsome" meant "rich enough to give tips".

Jehan, whose mind was absorbed in navigating the tricky obstacle that was Isabeau's bodess, replied on auto pilot: "My brother the arch- Ow!"

Claude gave him a swift kick under the table.

"Your brother? I thought you said your brother was a priest?" the blonde asked suspiciously.

"Er... he's another brother," the wine was really not helping in Jehan's quest to undo the multiple laces on Isabeau's dress, "Black sheep of the family, we don't like to talk about him, spends all his time indulging in sodomy, rape and masturbation."

Claude glared daggers at Jehan, but the youth was oblivious.

"Really?" the harlot spoke slowly, moving to sit herself down on the bench next to Claude, "And yet he cannot speak?"

Claude took a sharp intake of breath at the whore's proximity, the stench of her cheap perfume filling his nostrils, intoxicating his mind and body. Her sallow, pointed face just inches from his own...

"Shall I ask your brother for your name or... will you tell it to me?" she spoke, her voice low, stroking one long finger down the side of the archdeacon's face.

Her sudden touch was like a bucket of cold water over the priest. Guilt flooded his mind, forcing him to abruptly tear his head away and shift, uncomfortably, down the bench. It wasn't guilt for being unfaithful to God that caused him to turn away, nor fear of the resulting Hell and eternal damnation, but the strange thought that he was being unfaithful towards his gypsy girl...

_Witchcraft._

Claude took up the goblet of wine and took a large gulp.

Amused at his reaction, the harlot spoke again to his brother, "Now Jehan, I can't believe a brother of yours would be so shy..."

"Eh?" Jehan extracted his mouth momentarily from Isabeau's bosom to speak, "He's just not used to women. All that sodomy, you know," Jehan added, giving his brother a sly grin before turning his attention back to the wanton Isabeau.

"Oh, so..." Juliette closed the distance again between herself and Claude, continuing to speak in seductive tones, "You don't normally like women?"

Claude stiffened, forcing himself not to cringe away and yet staring anywhere but to the woman next to him. In the corner of his vision, he saw the fat lawyer and the red head finally ascending the stairs to the rooms above...

"Why don't you let me show you what you've been missing out on?" the whore whispered, voice husky, lips to his ear. For less then a second, the tip of her tongue tantalised his skin, causing the bubbling in the pit of his stomach to reach boiling point, his hands clenched tightly on the edge of the bench.

The whore smoothed two fingers under his chin, gently turning his face to look at hers. Her fingers touching his face caused Claude to notice that her hands and forearms were covered in a red, blistered rash that gave off a faint stale stench of diseased flesh. A stench, which the harlot was clearly trying to cover up with too much tasteless perfume. The rash, however, was the least of Claude's worries...

Attempting to stare into his eyes (a task which Claude was making very difficult) the whore tried again, "Why don't you tell me your name?"

His gypsy still dancing in his thoughts, there was only one name he could think of: "Phoebus."

"Such a pretty name..."

"It means... Sun God," Claude couldn't stop the bitterness from seeping into his tone, trying to ignore the sucking sounds that were coming from his brother's corner.

"Do you know?" the whore moved her head, lips and tongue closer, "My name means sun worshipper..."

This revelation, although he knew it to be untrue, disagreed with Claude and he again shifted away from the whore's touch. From the corner, the sucking sounds had ceased, "Scram, Juliette, you're not my brother's type."

"What? Female?" the wench snapped irritably, abruptly standing up to glare at both brothers.

"And blonde," Jehan added, picking a coin off the table and holding it out to her. The scowling harlot, trained to do anything for money, reached for it and Jehan, smirking, whispered something unintelligible into her ear. The whore nodded and took the coin, turning to walk into a back room on the ground floor.

Claude let out a sigh: A mix of relief and disappointment - one feeling being decidedly more dominant then the other. Taking his goblet up again, he drained it of the wine and poured himself another.

"That's the spirit, brother!" Jehan said, his words slurring just a little as Claude took another long gulp, "Don't be disheartened; take it from me, you wouldn't want to dip your quill into Juliette, skin diseases aside, she rather embodies a precocious cow. Not at all who you want on your first go at it."

Claude slumped his head to rest against the wooden back of the bench, suddenly awash with light headedness. He had more experience with drink then with women, but that did not say much. In the increasingly foggy back of his mind, a voice sternly told him to (rather wisely) stop drinking, which Claude agreed with, and to (even more wisely) stand up and leave the whore house immediately, which Claude agreed with less. Somehow, the voice's second piece of advice seemed to give Claude reason to doubt the validity of its first piece of advice, thus he found himself sucking once more from his goblet of wine. The taste of the cheap wine becoming more appealing with each sip that passed his thin lips.

Supporting his chin on his hand (now out of necessity, rather then to aid deep thought) Claude could feel the alcohol seeping through him, reducing his ability to coordinate the mind with the body. Said lack of coordination made it difficult to continue successfully pouring the wine from the bottle to the goblet, the solution being to abandon such counter productive measuring and pour the wine from the bottle straight down his throat.

It was a good solution, Claude decided.

"Ah ha!" his brother shouted far louder then necessary, Jehan's unsteady gaze looking at something behind Claude, "Dear brother, it seems we've finally found something you'll like!"

Claude took a moment to twist his head round to see what his brother was looking at to find, walking behind the blonde whore whose silly name Claude had already forgotten, a dark skinned, slender young girl with cascading raven hair...

As she sauntered slowly forwards towards their table, Claude forgot how to breath.

Remembering again, he took a deep gulp of the sex charged oxygen of the brothel for his mind to draw forth but one befuddled thought: Definitely, he was going to need another drink.


	4. Midnight

**Midnight**

It was arranged.

It was paid for.

Only one obstacle remained...

The stairs.

Gripping with one hand the bannister, Claude took a step in the direction he perceived to be forwards yet somehow ended up swaying off course to the right. Trying to correct this misstep, Claude persevered to move his limbs to take a stride up the staircase, yet his stubbornly weak knees refused to listen to reason and, instead, forced him to stumble backwards into Jehan.

"Mind out brother!" Jehan cried, almost crushed by the weight of the unsteady archdeacon, "The forbidden and thus utterly delicious fruit lies up the stairs not down them!" Jehan, as thoroughly intoxicated as he was (though sober compared to Dom Claude), hauled his brother upright and gave him a shove forwards.

"Upward to impurity and fate," Claude slurred, a twisted smile teasing his lips as he voiced his thoughts aloud, no longer caring to keep them constrained within.

"Impurity, fate and pretty girls!" Jehan sang merrily, continuing to push his inebriated brother forwards, himself taking a zigzagging route up the narrow staircase.

"Pretty girls with goats."

"Goats? No, not goats, brother. Pretty girls with pretty lips and pretty breasts and pretty legs and pretty-" Jehan was cut off mid slur by Claude, once again failing in his efforts to walk, causing them both to stagger, precariously down the steps.

"Brother, you're not listening to me, we need to go up the stairs not down them!"

"Oh, stairs, stairs... how I hate, loathe and despise them," Claude began to remonstrate to himself, the heavy feeling in his legs not subsiding as he attempted to drag himself once more up the troublesome staircase.

Deciding that talking was far easier then walking, Claude continued his rant, "Every day of my life is spent going up and down them... down and up them. Up and down and up and down and up and down the cathedral of Notre-Dame..." this most insightful speech seemed to confuse Claude's muddled sense of direction further and he swayed precariously backwards, until Jehan gave him another abrupt shove forwards.

"If I were the King, Jehan, if I were the King... stairs would be banished from all of France."

"Alas, brother, you are not," Jehan gave Claude another push, "or I'd expect far, far... _far_ more money from you."

"No, not while metal remains metal that is not gold, as it will do when I can only spell and not read..." in Frollo's mind, this made perfect sense and in Jehan's it sounded no less profound.

"But, brother Claude, you spell so beautifully!"

"... And I will, Jehan, even if it takes the whole of my life, I will learn how to do it, learn to unlock the alchemy of secrets and create the stone's philosopher," the brothers' staggered a few steps back, "And then... and then the King of France will be called Claude and not Phoebus-"

"Louis."

"Claude and not Phoebus..." Dom Claude repeated, oblivious to his brother's correction, "and then... then, I will finally ban stairs-"

"Hooray!"

"Build the biggest monuments to surpass even the beauty of Notre-Dame herself."

"Long live King Claude!"

"... And make Latin, Greek and Hebrew compulsory subjects of study."

"Revolt! Rebellion! Revolution of the free people!"

Finally, the top of the stairs came hazily into view. Claude crawled up the last pesky step to rest, sitting on the landing, facing down the conquered staircase. Jehan, once making it to the top, slid down the wall to plop next to his brother on the floor.

After a long pause, Claude slurred, "Jehan, did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

"Brother, you are drunk."

"Because I do, Jehan, I do," Claude continued urgently, as if insisting something of the greatest importance that had been eating his mind for quite some time, "Even if... even if you might not think I show it, I do. Your happiness means the world to me. It means the world..."

"Very, very... _very_ drunk," Jehan chuckled with a dazed grin.

"You are more then a brother to me, you are..." Frollo needed a moment to find the use of words that were buried under the fog inside his mind, "you are like... like the son I can never have-"

"That's very nice, brother Claude," Jehan cut him off, giving him a few affectionate claps on the shoulder. Remembering why they traversed up the staircase in the first place, Jehan pulled the incoherent, rambling priest to his feet. Yet somehow, even when stationary, Frollo managed to stumble back to the floor.

"Come on, brother, sober up," Jehan implored, hauling him upright once again and giving him a few light slaps to the side of his face.

"Jehan, I am always sober," Claude spoke, his lips in a twisted smile as if inwardly laughing at a private joke.

"Brother, if you are not drunk, then I must be _exceedingly_ drunk indeed... And if I'm as drunk as I think you are, then we may have just paid for something I'm not going to be able to use," Jehan said, looking down the corridor to the wooden door that led to his waiting Isabeau.

"Jehan, that is very wasteful."

"God willing, it will not be the case!"

At this mention of God, Frollo's body shook in silent laughter, the twisted smile becoming a twisted grin, "That would imply God is merciful... of late something that I have serious reason to doubt..."

Jehan, eager to fully indulge in his own whore, dragged the stumbling archdeacon to the door of the room that was to be Claude's for the next hour.

At the door, Jehan spoke, "Are you ready, brother?"

"Like the fly for the spider."

Jehan put his hands on Frollo's shoulders, ensuring that their eyes met, to certify he paid attention to his next words, "Claude?"

"... Yes, brother?"

"Let me give you some last words of advice on women... specifically, _pleasuring_ women-"

"Words of wisdom to be followed the same way you follow mine?" slurred Claude.

"Why, by all means, but listen first," when Jehan was quite sure Frollo was listening (to the best of his inebriated ability), he continued, "One: Thou shallt not rush."

Frollo lent his head back against the door as he fell again into silent chuckling, "Brother, I don't think you could call thirty six years rushing."

"Ah, but that is exactly the reason why you_ would_ rush," Jehan smiled slyly, wagging a knowing, yet unsteady finger in Claude's face, "and thou must not. Two: Thou shallt not over think."

"Presently, not a problem."

"And three..." Jehan's lips curved up into a smirk, "And three: Pay close attention to the spot on a woman's back that is two thirds up the spine and a little to the right."

"... What?" said Claude foggily.

Jehan turned him to the side and prodded just under his right shoulder blade, "Here. It's like a second clitoris – rub it and you'll double any woman's orgasm."

"That's ridiculous."

"Trust me, Claude, press in right there and the wench will be begging you to spend another hour with her," Jehan grinned, glancing over his shoulder at the door that led to Isabeau. Claude, finally, turned to face his own door, hand stationary on the iron latch.

"Brother, good luck - do the Frollo name proud," Jehan said, giving Claude an encouraging clap on the back before leaving him, down the hall, for the arms of Isabeau.

"I don't believe in luck," Frollo spoke softly to himself, "I believe in fate."

Yet still he hesitated, swaying slowly left and right but not moving the hand that rested on the door latch. He tried to think, but could not; the alcohol induced mist acted as a blanket over his brain making all thought processes impossible.

But, he knew he believed in fate. Fate; which had put him on this path of debauchery. Fate that he was utterly powerless to resist. Yes, it was impossible to move off the road fate had chosen for him; he could only postpone the inevitable or progress through it. Those were his only choices...

A smirk teased his lips: It was madness to stop midway. When one does evil, one should do it thoroughly...

Frollo lifted the iron latch - the door clunked forward an inch. Taking a deep steadying breath, Claude pushed the door wide open and forced his legs to move through the doorway.

Three steps later and, without his brother to keep him upright, Frollo lost his balance, staggering clumsily to collide with an unfortunately solid chest of drawers. The resulting crash alerting the whore, who had been sitting on the bed with her back to the door, to the arrival of her client.

Gripping the top of the chest of drawers, Frollo dragged himself back to his feet, his rocky gaze falling on the young wench who was regarding him wearily over her shoulder. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard her mutter: "Another drunk..."

She stared at him in silence for a moment; Claude, still using his arms to support himself next to the chest of drawers, was unsure of what to do next. Jehan's voice swam around his head: "Suave entrance, brother."

"Have you paid?"

Head heavy, Claude nodded; he trusted his ability to speak sentences as much as his ability to walk straight.

The prostitute stood. Frollo inhaled sharply as she turned towards him; smooth dusky skin lit by flickering candlelight; slim, sensual figure hid only partially by a dress that hung generously off her shoulders, highlighting the swell of her breasts. Claude lost himself in his gaze, in her beauty. His Esmeralda finally before him...

And yet, she wasn't.

She must have only been a couple of years older then his gypsy girl, yet that radiance of youth seemed to have long passed her, all innocence removed to be replaced by a fatigued worldliness. Her eyes, with shadows lying beneath, were dulled and indifferent. On the right side of her face, an unmistakable purple welt adorned her jaw line; the bruise of such a deep colour she must have only been struck the day before. All in all, Claude got the impression that he was in the presence of someone who was at the end of a very long shift of work... and he was the unwanted last customer of the day.

"How would you like it?"

Visions of a hundred different passion filled nights danced before him; how he had taken the gypsy in his dreams and how, occasionally, she had taken him...

Frollo gulped.

"I... don't know."

At this unhelpful response, the whore half rolled her eyes; moving her hands skilfully behind her back, in an action repeated a thousand times before, to free the dress from her shoulders to fall to her hips.

Claude's eyes widened, mouth falling open to exhale a deep breath he didn't realise he was holding; his muddled mind drowning in the sight of so much naked flesh only meters before him. She was so close, _so close_ for the taking and yet his limbs were paralysed to the spot, all movement beyond him.

Ever the voyeur, his eyes drank in the sight of her body; from her long neck down to the dark curves of her bosom down further to the swell of her hips. He desperately wished she would drop the dress the rest of the way and the thought that he should do _something _to achieve that end flitted to the forefront of his drink sodden brain, yet his body, equally drink sodden, was not responding.

Not responding except to feed the fire that ate his soul.

Transfixed by her bare torso, Frollo stood stock still, oblivious to how his hands seemed to be attempting to squeeze the life out of the edges of the furniture.

She let him stare in panting silence for some moments more before taking a step forward to approach him. This abrupt movement jolted Frollo out of his reverie and he staggered backwards into the far wall.

At this anti-productive movement, the wench let out an irked sigh, "Look, do you want to fuck or not?"

His mind yelled one answer, his burning body another.

Claude's gaze shot up to the whore's face as she begun again to close the distance between them and, instead of any answer, he blurted out: "Can you dance?"

"No," she said bluntly.

Somehow, this wasn't turning out like his dreams at all...

From the next-door room, orgasmic cries of male and female ecstasy penetrated the wall (Claude was exceedingly glad Jehan's room was a long way off down the hall). Only a few feet away from him, the whore watched as his eyes flickered, almost anxiously, from her inviting figure to the crying wall, back to her breasts and then again to the wall.

"Are you married?"

"... No," not to a woman, anyway.

She was directly in front of him now, the scent of sweat and perfume wafting over him, mixing in his brain, his head pounding with blood, booze, fear and lust; the ability to reason long gone.

"First time then?"

A red flush appeared on Claude's already wine-ruddy cheeks, "First time... doing what?"

"Fucking a whore," the note of self loathing was impossible to miss.

The flush on Claude's cheeks deepened, his eyes ablaze as he glared down at his damnation; laid bare and naked inches before him. All at once desire overcame him and he lunged his arms out to claim his place in Hell, yet, his hands halfway to condemnation, a second instinct overcame the first, forcing him to shove his arms back to his sides; fists clenched, banging his head against the wall behind him.

It was madness to stop midway in the monstrous and Frollo was quite mad.

"What is your name?" the tone suggested this was a repeated question that Frollo had been oblivious to the first time.

Eyes scrunched up tight, he answered, "Ph... Claude."

"Ph-Claude?"

Frollo had been about to carry on the charade of sharing the Captain's name, but he couldn't bear yet another woman to remind him how "pretty" the name was. Let alone call out "Phoebus" when...

"No... no, just Claude."

"Just Claude..." the whore mumbled, one corner of her lip ever so slightly twitched upward as she slowly dropped to her knees before him. Claude's eyes still shut tight, brow furrowed and dragged low as he tried desperately to separate the swirling that muddied his brain.

The whore trailed a hand down the front of Claude's doublet causing his eyes to fly open at the touch; a hiss like a piston to pass his lips releasing steam. The hand then trailed lower to stroke between his legs; the hiss replaced by a groan, eyes clamping shut once more and head falling back against the wall as her other hand smoothed across his thigh. Both hands then travelled back up his body to undo his belt. The leather strap falling to the floor, the hands moved back down to rub the front of his trousers, beginning to tease the laces...

Gasping for breath, Frollo's head dropped forward. His eyes now on the wench, he abruptly realised why she held her head level with his crotch; realised what was going to come next...

His mind was too far gone to protest the event, but the method?

"No, wait..." Claude choked out, barely above a whisper – the whore ignored him.

"Wait!" he exclaimed again, forcing his voice aloud, "I... I don't want it like this."

The whore stopped.

With a slight scowl that suggested she did not appreciate picky customers this late in the evening, she spoke, "How then?"

Claude took in a deep steadying breath, his eyes fixed on the corner of the room away from the wench's face, eyes and breasts as he tried to speak aloud what he had desired for so long.

"Can't we do it as if... as if I... as if you..."

"As if I loved you?" she said flatly.

Frollo gulped.

Eyes on the ceiling, his voice constrained to a whisper, he spoke, "Yes... Very much."

Wearily, the whore stood up.

"Fine."

Once more, Claude swallowed hard. Realising he should show some sort of initiative, he moved his hands to start to undo the laces on his doublet. Alas, over the evening, he had lost the ability to untie knots; uncoordinated fingers unable to obey his brain's hazy commands.

After watching him fumble uselessly, the whore swatted his hands out the way to matter-of-factly untie the laces. Her hands, however unimpassioned, sent shivers up Frollo's spine; the urge to touch that he had fought off for so long overpowering his mind...

Finally stripped of his doublet, the whore continued to undress him; lifting his under-shirt gently over his head to reveal a gold crucifix around his neck. Frollo's last defence against sin.

"Ah, so you're religious..." the whore spoke softly as if that explained everything.

She trailed her fingers up his bare torso, causing Claude's reply, whatever it was, to be reduced to a gurgling sound at the back of his throat. Her fingers moved up to his collar bone and along it for one digit to hook under the chain and trace it down to the cross. Holding the symbol between her thumb and index finger, she brought it first to kiss her lips and then pressed it into his own.

The crucifix held against his slightly parted lips, she whispered into his ear, "Deus indulgeo vos."

Finally, his soul was unleashed.

Frollo lunged forward to drag the wench against him, her breasts crushed against his bare chest, lips locking; all hesitation gone as his mind and body submitted to lust filled oblivion. Her sound of surprise was smothered by Claude's eager mouth; sucking, tasting, sensing what he had only before dreamed. His hot breath shuddering into hers as he drew in the impure scent of her skin, stained with the men she had already satisfied that night, his own scent soon to join it.

When he felt her lips, teeth and tongue kiss back, all blood boiled within him like molten led. The hard grip on her shoulders melting as her hands cupped his face, finger tips brushing his ears, one hand moving to caress the back of his bald head. Her touch, doubling the intensity of his blazing, clumsy kisses.

Claude's hands abandoned her shoulders; one trailing through her hair, the other smoothing down the curve of her back (left or right, he didn't care) to tug at the dress that covered the last of the whore's figure. Feeling his hand blunder about her waist, she swiftly pulled the dress free of her body; all her dark flesh bared before him. He broke the kiss to take in the whole of her, studying every soft curve and feminine shape.

Frollo had never before seen a naked woman.

His probing stare moved to her face; passion fuelled eyes scorching into the vacuum of her emotionless gaze. Hungrily, his mouth found her lips to once more consume what God and Notre-Dame had denied him all his life; hands squeezing supple flesh until it flushed red.

Perhaps not wanting his rough, lascivious kisses to go on longer then necessary, the whore reached down to grope between his legs, causing Claude to let out a rugged growl. Satisfied, the wench took his wrists to lead him (ignoring his inebriated tripping) to the bed.

The whore stretched herself back across the mattress. The word "rushing" danced momentarily around Frollo's mind, the thought excommunicated as he sunk down, heavily onto her warm, willing body.

A few seconds of his awkward fumbling atop her and the wench rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips to do the work for him. Lips caressing his neck, her fingers moved to undo the remaining laces on his trousers and strip away that last barrier between them. The dark haze around Frollo's vision clouding black as his body submitted fully to the sins and pleasures of the flesh.


	5. Morning

**Morning**

Frollo opened his eyes.

Agonizing pain rang instantly through his head, forcing him to throw an arm over his face to block out the torturous light. Organs sickly churning, Claude was convinced that his damnation had commenced: Hell had finally swallowed him whole.

Some moments after this sobering thought, Claude became aware that the ground on which he lay was not in fact ground, but stone. This realisation was shortly followed by a second: He was not positioned flat, but oddly sloping downwards. One arm still covering his face, Frollo used the other to try and discern further the surface he was lying on: Stone steps.

Claude parted his fingers to allow one bleary eye access to his surroundings to find himself presented with the streets of Paris on a jarringly bright Sunday morning. He was not in Hell, but resting on the steps outside of Notre-Dame.

Claude shut both eyes tight, letting out a groggy groan as the after effects of too much wine throbbed through his brain. The events of the previous Saturday night returning to him in a flood: Jehan, brothels, wine, more wine, women, even more wine and, finally, his dark whore surged through his mind.

_His whore. _

Frollo subconsciously licked his lips, frowning deeply at the thought. He recollected her touch, her kisses, her sensuous body laid out on the bed before him and then...

Nothing.

Beyond her form on the bed, his mind was an empty void.

Dom Claude's brow furrowed in concentration as he tried desperately to recall the events of the night, to reconstruct the memory that crossed the blank between the girl lying on the bed to himself awakening on the steps of the cathedral. Yet, he could not: The memory was lost to oblivion. Dead from the drink.

He had turned himself over to sin, indulged in his greatest desire, for the Devil to mockingly throw it back in his face.

Or, perhaps, it was God who was laughing.

_But, if the demon gypsy's spell was broken..._

As Claude continued to fruitlessly attempt to force his brain into remembrance, he was completely unaware of the three priests who stood behind him, arguing as quietly as possible on who was going to approach the passed out archdeacon of Josas.

The youngest of the three clergymen was nominated for the unhappy privilege. The other two hanging back by the doors of the cathedral to watch the spectacle as the young priest approached (as slowly as possible) the formidable, though horizontal, Dom Claude Frollo.

A couple of metres away, he quietly cleared his throat, "Dom Claude?"

Frollo, arm still covering his face, stiffened at the younger priest's voice; the words like a rusty saw serrating between his ears. He kept silent for a moment before finally responding, vocal chords rough from the previous evening, "Yes?"

The priest tried to look anywhere but at the large, rosy red mark that clung to the archdeacon's neck.

"Brother, it is... it is Sunday morning. You will be needed for the service, to give the sermon shortly and," the priest eyed nervously Dom Claude's utterly dishevelled appearance, "You... you need to get ready."

It was then that Claude became acutely aware of his doublet hanging open over his under-shirt; whoever had put him back in his clothes had not bothered to re-lace it...

The thought of the many, many steps that lay between him and his cassock, hanging in his tower room, made Frollo's nauseated stomach lurch.

"Are you... all right?"

Claude spoke almost threateningly, "For what reason wouldn't I be?"

Trailing his hand around his neck, Claude found that his crucifix, which had been given to him as a boy, was gone.

"I... n-n-none," the priest tripped over his response as Dom Claude removed the arm from his face to glare with blood shot eyes at the young man. His stare that normally portrayed lofty austerity resembled, that Sunday morning, more of a pained grimace. However, grimace or icy austerity, the effect on the subordinate priest was the same.

He had to get off the steps: Frollo attempted to sit up.

He moved his head a foot off the ground to cause all of Paris to madly spin and sway about him. Pallid skin tinged green, Claude dropped back down to the stone steps, throwing both hands over his brow and letting out a long, sickly groan.

"Do you... need help?" the dratted priest spoke.

"No. I just need a moment of peace and quiet if you would leave me to-"

The bells of Notre-Dame began to ring. The tremendous sounds reverberating through Claude's sickly suffering head, his gypsy twirled about him.

Still, she danced through his every thought.

Fate was a cruel mistress.

**The End**

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed Claude and Jehan's mini adventure through sin and debauchery, because I certainly enjoyed writing it! Your thoughts, as always, are appreciated.


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